


Ritzy

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [334]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, extra fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: ritzy: adjective: RIT-see: being, characteristic of, or befitting a snob; impressively or ostentatiously fancy of stylishfrom Merriam-Webster:César Ritz (1850-1918) earned worldwide renown for the luxurious hotels bearing his name in London and Paris. (The Ritz-Carlton hotel company is a contemporary descendant of these enterprises.) Although they were by no means the first to cater to high-end clients, Ritz's hotels quickly earned reputations as symbols of opulence. F. Scott Fitzgerald, a writer who often focused on the fashionably wealthy, titled one of his short stories "The Diamond as Big as the Ritz," and the phrase "to put on the ritz" means "to indulge in ostentatious display." The adjective ritzy, describing either something fancy or stylish, or the haughty attitudes of the wealthy elite, first checked into the English language in 1920.





	Ritzy

John shook his head as he helped Sherlock from his muddied, but relatively undamaged coat, then leaned him carefully against the door, so he wouldn't fall over from exhaustion.

"John..."

"I know. Shhhh..." He hung up the Belstaff then turned again to begin to work on the neatly tailored jacket, and wondered briefly how he ever thought the man in front of him as ritzy. Under all the sharply elegant lines, he was like any other man, made of flesh, bone and blood, just as easily broken if hurt, and far more vulnerable than anyone John had ever known before.

"John -"

"Yeah." His frozen fingers weren't working as quickly as he wanted or needed them to go.

"Just take it off - I don't care -"

John blinked at him, but nodded, and undid the cuffs of the midnight blue shirt before yanking it over Sherlock's head, leaving him in his scuffed shoes and tattered trousers. "How -?" he shook his head, then gently pushed Sherlock onto the couch, muttering to himself as he watched his eyes close after three and a half days of chaos and coffee. He blew on his hands to warm them up, untied his shoes and dropped them to the floor, then gingerly disposed of the woolen trousers that were probably headed for an untimely end in the rubbish bin.

"Johnnnn..."

"You know, if you just-" Sherlock opened his eyes and John's breath caught as it always did. "No. I know, love, I know. Come on, you can't sleep there, it's no good for your back."

Sherlock groaned, but sat up slowly, and got to his feet, then grabbed John by the hand, and pulled him tightly against him, burying his nose into John's hair and breathing him in. "John."

John settled against Sherlock and closed his eyes, as he felt Sherlock's arms drape around him, then hold him tenderly. "Hmmm...."

"We need a shower."

John chuckled against him, then nodded. "Yeah, we probably do."

"Tomorrow, hmm, later today?"

"Please?"

Sherlock lifted him into his arms and carried him to bed. John had long ago ceased to question where his strength came from, and sighed into Sherlock's neck. "Sherlock -"

"Yeah, John. I know. Me too."


End file.
